Howling' Steve Thomas on the Important Things

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Some days, I feel as if I'm being slowly roasted alive. Rosacea, arthritis and elevated body temperature. Inflammation is what ultimately kills most of us.

What is it that goes wrong within our bodies as we age that causes our bodies to consume themselves?

Among my many age related chronic conditions, I count rosacea and arthritis. Both are caused by systemic inflammation. As I understand it, the buildup of bacteria and detritus in the tissue causes the body to launch an inflammation attack as a method of defense. In other words, the body thinks it is defending itself when it is actually destroying itself.

My dermatologist has treated my rosacea with antibiotics, both internal and external. The results have been mixed. This has slowed the spread of the disease, but it hasn't stopped it. I see no hope for reversal of the condition.

I treat my arthritis exclusively with yoga. Yoga makes the most obvious symptoms disappear. I'm not in pain and I can engage in normal physical activity and sports. But, yoga does not stop or reverse the gradual hardening of my body caused by inflammation.

As animals age, their immune systems gradually deteriorate, a process called immunosenescence. It is associated with systemic inflammation and chronic inflammatory disorders, as well as with many cancers. The causes underlying this age-associated inflammation, and how it leads to diseases, are poorly understood. New work sheds light on one protein's involvement in suppressing immune responses in aging fruit flies.

Knowing what causes systemic inflammation doesn't do much to solve the problem.

The only general advice I've received is that I should live like a nun. Avoid red meat, liquor and spices. I figure I might as well be dead as follow that advice. I've cut down a lot on drinking because the negative outcome, i.e., pain, is immediate.

Folks on FB have suggested everything from antihistamines to steroids to slow the process of systemic inflammation.

Maybe we're just meant to die. We live by transforming energy into heat, a destructive process.

I'll be visiting my general practitioner soon and I'll have a lot of questions to ask him about systemic inflammation. If you have any suggestions, please let me know.

Friday, August 26, 2016

I googled "Old People Sex" and the search engine returned porn pics of naked old people screwing in various configurations. This was not what I had in mind. But it reminded me of Rule 34... I was looking for a pic like this one:

The media and FB friends keep telling me that seniors should just go ahead and enjoy themselves. Screw away!

If only it were that easy.

For old widows and widowers, the major problem is finding a partner. Yeah, I could be dating online. Tried that. There are plenty of women out there who want to go on a date and enjoy a free meal. I'm living on a retired senior budget. Really can't afford to do that any more.

The real libido killer is physical disability.

After the age of 60, the body really starts disintegrating. One of my favorite jokes to tell my girlfriend is:

"Don't tell me which parts aren't working. Which parts still work?"

I work out a couple of hours per day. Yoga, bicycling, weight lifting and some occasional basketball and softball workouts. I'm still falling apart and overweight. I've got a nasty bald spot on the crown of my head. My face is being slowly burned away by rosacea.

You can say that this shouldn't matter much. It does. The visual part of sex is important and that part is no longer particularly edifying. Best to turn out the lights and screw in the dark.

Especially in the aftermath of three surgeries that have disabled me for the past few months, I'm wondering... is that part of my life over? Has sex ended for me?

I'm not feeling sorry for myself (well... maybe a little). In fact, I'm wondering if the end of sex might be a good thing for me. Obsessing over sex, trying to find sex... that's been going on for six and a half decades. Maybe it's time to focus that energy on something else.

On occasion, I think I might try to find a young whore and simply pay for it from time to time. My budget is a little thin for that. I've always had a sex partner, so I've never been in the position of having to look for a whore. I don't even know how to do that.

As with most things in life, I doubt that I'll have an epiphany that answers my dilemma. I'll just struggle through and deal with what happens on a day to day basis.

The cartoon above certainly has one thing right. Peeing and pooping takes up more of my time and my attention with each passing day. The exhaust systems are the first systems to start breaking down as we age, for obvious reasons. Cancer seems to attack the urinary and intestinal systems first in most people.

Oh, well... We have to find meaning in different things in each stage of our lives. Might be time for me to find that in something other than sex.

Friday, August 12, 2016

Got the OK from the doctor to resume my normal physical regimen. Good thing! I was going nuts sitting on my ass after 3 surgeries in two months. The good news is... no cancer! The other big news is that I'll be departing Woodstock, although the date for that is not yet set. I'll be getting un-Woodstuck.

"Woodstuck" is a term the locals have always used to describe somebody who moved to town, excited by living in the most famous small town in the world, only to become stuck with no way to get out.

I got Woodstuck over 40 years ago. Immigrated to the burg to immerse myself in the music scene, and to put my kids in safe schools. Got stuck. Long after there's any reason to be here, I'm still here.

Not moving very far away. Less than 20 miles, on the periphery of Kingston, but still out in the country and atop a mountain. A shorter mountain.

I will, however, be moving to an entirely different universe. I'll be living in an ordinary small town with no claim to fame, populated by people with a lot more sense and much smaller egos. No flocks of tourists.

The reason? I'm going in with my daughter and son-in-law to buy a house. They need all the help I can give them to care for my three grandkids, and I'm retired and happy to play the role of Mr. Mom. So, we'll be building an in-law unit in the basement of the new house for me. I'll be selling my house in Woodstock.

I've never lived in the town of Woodstock. That's too damned crazy. Town is full of rental houses for the transients, and shops and amenities for the tourists. The transients are artists, usually musicians or painters. An entertaining but addled bunch trying to continue to live the hippie dream.

No, I've always lived in isolation in the forest in the mountains to the west of Woodstock. That area belongs spiritually to Woodstock, isolated from the melodrama and mental illness. Every crazy artist and burned out far leftist must live for a while in Woodstock.

Another reason for the move is that I need somebody to look after me. I'm headed toward 70. No serious health problems, but living in isolation out in the mountains will soon be too much for me to handle. And, if I fall down or have a serious health problem, I will need to have somebody nearby to help me.

While I'm still completely independent, capable and mobile, I am old.

I'll be Woodstuck until my house sells. Might be a year or two. Or might happen in a hurry.

I'm ready. God has blessed the final chapter of my life... He has given me these beautiful and fascinating grandkids and He's given me a big role in rearing them.

I'll be commuting to my babysitting gig until the house sells. Then, Crazy Grandpa will move into the basement apartment. Happy days ahead, indeed.

Monday, August 08, 2016

Three surgeries in the past two months! Two months of enforced physical inactivity, opiate pain medications and not even being able to babysit my grandkids. I'm seeing the surgeon on Thursday, and if he gives me the OK, I will be able to resume my normal physical regimen of bicycling, yoga and weight lifting.

Kids fall down all the time. My grandkids, ages 1 through 3, are still learning how to control their bodies. The one year old twins fall down every 30 seconds or so. The three year old is starting to get her act together.

The worst part of my two month long struggle with health is that I haven't been able to get down on the floor with my grandkids to play and rough house.

Every aspect of my life is at a standstill because of the physical inactivity. Can't wait to get started again.

We all fall down.

Kids take it all in stride. If you don't get up when you fall and try again, you'll never learn how to walk. My grandkids fall down, scrape their knees, cry and show the boo-boo to grandpa. I kiss it and we start all over again.

I've been through this picking myself up and putting myself back together so many times. I no longer get depressed or angry about it. It just seems to be the reality of life. People get sick and die. Economic disasters strike from time to time. Completely unexpected problems overwhelm us.

My midwestern upbringing and Catholic indoctrination taught me stoicism. In rural Illinois in my day (the 50s and 60s), nobody wanted to listen to your whining, your excuses or humor your bitch. My family's background is hard ass Irish and German peasantry. I was taught from childhood that nobody was going to help me and that, if I wanted anything, I had better get it for myself.

This is quite a sensible philosophy.

I know how to put myself back together. I'll start out slowly with the physical exercise so that I don't hurt myself... the first consideration for an old fart. I'll get back down on the floor to play and rough house with the grandkids. Today, I got started playing music and drawing. (Even those things went by the wayside, since the opiates put me to sleep for most of the day.)

The biggest smackdown of my life was, of course, Myrna's death. Took me years to want to go on with life. It's still a struggle without her. 12 years ago, the money was flowing in from two big paychecks and we were thinking we were on the verge of retiring to travel the world in luxury.

Everything changed in a few moments.

Then the grandkids came along. I'm not ashamed to say that they gave me a reason to enjoy life and to be positive and enthusiastic again. Caring for them has become my full time job in retirement, and I'm happy with that. In a few months, I'll be moving into an in-law apartment in a new house I'm buying with my daughter and son-in-law so that I can be full time Mr. Mom to my grandkids. Goodbye, Woodstock! (A good thing. It's time to become un-Woodstuck!)

That will come to an end to, but experience has prepared me for that. I already know that the day is not so far away when my grandkids will have other things to do than hang out with grandpa.

Wednesday, August 03, 2016

Propelling tons of material into earth orbit or beyond is extremely expensive and very hard on the environment. Getting a single pound into low earth orbit can cost $10,000! Rockets are very expensive and dirty. Solution? A space elevator!

Something about this concept caught my fancy.

Liftport, the company behind this tech, is not as cranky as you might think. The concept is workable. Current holdup... materials tech. The string from earth to that great counterweight in outer space must be made of a single crystal of carbon fiber that is incredibly strong.

Back when this concept was first floated in science fiction, Arthur C. Clarke called this material "unobtanium."

I am thinking all sorts of nonsense as I enter my second week of enforced rest after surgery. Next week, the surgeon will tell me whether I can resume bicycling, yoga, weight lifting and my other little physical fitness regimens.

I've even had to take a couple of weeks off from babysitting my grandkids. I can't pick them up. Doctor has forbidden picking up heavy things... and grandkids are kinda big now.

So, lots of hydrocodone and lots of sleep.

Political controversy is just too damned hard. I have to clench my teeth and hold in my gut for that stuff.

Friday, July 29, 2016

What a relief! My surgeon removed my appendix and a small part of my cecum in a laparoscopic surgery on Tuesday. And the verdict is... no cancer! Below, a video of a laparoscopic appendectomy.

The first surgeon I consulted before this operation, an (Asian) Indian, had wanted to do a laparoscopic procedure on my appendix, then open an incision to check my bowels. My GP vetoed that and sent me to a Chinese surgeon, who did both procedures laparoscopically.

Non-invasive surgery means less trauma to tissue, quicker healing and less pain.

Potentially struggling with cancer troubled me for a couple of months. The emotional weight of that worry has lifted. Three days after the surgery, I'm almost pain free.

My doctors advised me to sit and do nothing for a couple of weeks. No exercise, except perhaps for walking.

I'm facing a 3 to 4 week recovery, then I'll be able to care for my grandkids again. Doctors especially advised me against lifting heavy things during my recovery. My one year old grandkids already weigh about 30 pounds apiece.

And, my one year old grandson loves to use grandpa's belly as a trampoline.

Monday, July 25, 2016

One of the reasons I decided to drive cross country to Chicago last week... I'm facing serious surgery. I wanted to indulge myself with a little adventure. Might be the last time in my life that I'm physically capable.

I made it to 66 in very good health, so I'm lucky.

Today will be purge day. I'll be downing a solution of MiraLAX and water until I poop out my guts. Can't eat. Can't drink coffee. I'm restricted to clear liquids.

I learned from experience when Myrna was in the hospital that surgeons are far too impressed with their skills and tend to always predict positive results, so I'm skeptical of my own surgeon. What can I do? I don't have the knowledge to really evaluate his diagnosis. I've been through three doctors, all of whom disagree to some extent about possible treatment.

Oncologists tend to be much more blunt than surgeons, but I'm not yet at the stage of needing an oncologist. When Myrna was dying from cancer, we shopped around for an oncologist who was willing to treat her. The first was a woman who told us bluntly that Myrna would die in a few months and that the best we could do was to make her comfortable.

In desperation, we worked our way through several oncologists until we found one who promised to cure her, at least temporarily. That only led to what the surgeon described as "butchery." I had to pull the plug. The oncologist, who had been charging the insurance company $750 for each visit to Myrna's room, was furious.

Am I afraid? Worried?

Yes. I'd like to live long enough to see my grandkids reach adulthood. I don't know if I want to live with a colostomy bag, if it comes to that. My mother is almost 90. I just visited her in Illinois. She wishes that her doctor would recommend the colostomy bag no matter whether she has cancer. She's fed up with old age induced incontinence.

I retired four years ago, even though I could have continued working, to focus on doing the things I enjoy and to contemplate my mortality and my relationship with God. I've enjoyed this long period of rest and reflection, and I'd like for it to continue.

Only six weeks ago, I went through two surgeries for kidney stones. So, I know the drill. No much drama, really. You go to sleep and then you wake up, and somebody tells you the results. That's about it.

Both the diagnosis and outcome of my physical problems are unknown. CAT scans taken during my hospitalization for kidney stones revealed some abnormality in my appendix. All three doctors I've consulted disagree on what that abnormality might be. Everything from a cyst to a tumor.

So, my surgery could just be an appendectomy, or it could be major resection of the bowel. Won't know what happened until I wake up.

Friday, July 22, 2016

My 2011 Ford Ranger pickup truck's odometer read 101,240 when I departed Woodstock last week for a cross country trip to Chicago. My bicycle was strapped to its rack.

I'm going to drive the damned thing until it dies! No car payment!

Next week, I go under the knife for exploratory surgery. The radiologist found a little spot on my CAT scan. Might be nothing. Might be cancer. I brought along my bicycle because I'm trying to get in the best possible shape for a quick recovery from my surgery.

My mom turns 90 this fall and my sister is also facing serious surgery. I wanted to take the trip home to see them while I can. It's a fact of life, now. Every time I see loved ones might be the last time.

I've always loved cross country driving. Myrna did too. Back when we owned the Ford Expedition, we routinely drove the big SUV to Chicago. I've driven just about all the major routes from the West to the East Coasts.

I took my time on the way to Chicago. Even stopped at Hazleton, PA, hometown of Joe Maddon, the Cubs' manager. (Hadn't really intended that. I was looking for a place to stretch my legs and...) Madden is a small town boy.

The return trip turned into a relentless sprint. Hadn't planned it that way. I'd spent a night at the Super 8 in Brookville, PA on my way to Chicago. (Brookville is about halfway between NYC and Chicago. Here's an interesting webpage that calculates the halfway point between any two cities.) The prospect of another night in a Super 8 didn't appeal to me on the way home.

A lot of time to think during the 10 hours or so of driving in each direction.

I stopped in Detroit to visit a Facebook friend and take in a Tiger's baseball game. Saw a Cubs' game at Wrigley, too.

I'm ready now to face the surgeon's knife.

This was probably my last major cross country drive. I'm old. My eyes don't work so well any more. I suspect that the next trip home to Illinois will be for a funeral, and that doesn't leave time for dawdling.

Back in the glory days when Myrna was still here, we drove to Chicago to sit in with A.C. Reed, the great bluesman, at Kingston Mines. Here's his tune about pickup trucks:

That was so long ago.

27 years ago, I flew out to Portland to fetch Myrna. We drove her old Dodge Dart all the way to Woodstock. What an adventure! Every day with Myrna was an adventure.

The odometer read 103,464 when I pulled into my driveway. 2,044 miles total!